


Cure

by 8lapetitehirondelle8



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 12:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11486424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8lapetitehirondelle8/pseuds/8lapetitehirondelle8
Summary: “You coming back to mine, then?”“Only if you want me to.”“How am I supposed to confirm or disprove your hypothetical cure for insomnia if you don’t?”





	Cure

**Author's Note:**

> I...  
> Well...  
> You see...
> 
> ...Yeah...
> 
> <3<3<3

**Cure**

The cool surface of the break room table felt incredible on her forehead. It was the morning after the fourth night in a row she hadn’t been able to sleep, and at this point death would be a welcome alternative to the incessant pounding in her head, the fogginess in her brain. It had started Sunday night. She’d known the week ahead was going to be frantic - full of meetings and calls and planning and brainstorming - and she needed to be sharp, on top of things. So naturally, her mind had decided to run her in circles and disallow her the most important restorative there was, because of course it had. It was Thursday morning and at this point she was running on caffeine and stubbornness. If she could just make it to the weekend, everything would be fine.

She hoped.

She heard footsteps approaching but couldn’t bring herself to lift her head enough to confirm the people to whom they belonged. She had ten more minutes before she had to be on the phone with the people at BMW, and she was determined to spend at least seven of them exactly where she was.

“Oh dear,” said a voice. May’s voice, actually.

“Is it dead?” That was Clarkson, poking her in the shoulder. She responded with a two-fingered salute and he snorted a laugh.

“You alright, Ange?” Hammond, this time.

“I have not slept more than a total of six hours since Saturday,” she grumbled, still not moving, “And I think I’m going to die.”

“Insomnia is character building,” said Jeremy sagely.

“We’re aware of that, Clarkson. If anything, it’s given you an _excess_ of character.” Angela wasn’t too tired to snarl at him a bit, so she guessed that was a good sign.

“That’s the most diplomatic way I’ve ever heard it said,” Richard laughed. “Most of us just straight up tell him he’s a cock.”

Angela felt Richard wrestle the mug out of her grip and heard him walk towards the coffee pot. ‘ _Bless him_ ,’ she thought.

There was the scrape of a chair on the floor as James sat next to her. “What’ve you tried?” he asked.

“Apart from everything?” she sighed. “Warm drinks, lavender oil, baths, warm drinks in the bath with lavender oil, deep breathing, alcohol, and an obscene amount of sheep-counting. And then when I got bored with sheep, I started counting hedgehogs in lederhosen. You know, just for a change of pace.” Her mug found its way back into her hand. “Thanks, Hamster.”

“No worries,” Richard’s fingertips brushed the back of her wrist gently.

A pair of hands too large to be anyone’s but Jeremy’s squeezed her shoulders then. “You’ll work it out, Ange. Let us know if you need anything. Come on, you two, we’ve got to go sort out Greece.”

“The Greeks have been trying to do that for years,” muttered James as he stood up.

Angela heard two sets of footsteps leave the room, but there was still a body near her.

“You know, Ange, I have a foolproof cure for insomnia.”

“Going to have to call shenanigans on that, Hammond, sorry.”

“No, really, I do.”

“Yeah. Pull the other one, mate.” She finally lifted her head from the table and found Richard looking at her a bit differently than normal. She figured it had to be because she had a giant red mark on her forehead from where it had been resting on the table top, but she was too tired to care. Snagging her mug, she sighed, “I’ve got a call with BMW. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, still looking at her oddly. He caught her elbow, rubbing a thumb up her arm momentarily. “Tell you what, if you can’t sleep tonight, text me and I’ll tell you my secret cure.”

“Riiiiiiight…”

*******

It was half past two in the bloody morning. The texture on her ceiling was taking on shapes Angela had never noticed before, and sleep was still on holiday. If she wasn’t so prepared to be relieved to see it whenever it finally decided to return, Angela would be planning the right bollocking she was going to give it. She was tempted to text Richard - it would serve him right, making unsubstantiated claims about having cures for things. She sighed. She wouldn’t. There was no point waking him up just because she was miserable, no matter how irritating the man could be, or how persuasive… She thought back to that morning. Jeremy had taken the piss, of course. That was his way of caring. James tried to attack the problem logically. That was _his_ way. Richard, on the other hand, hadn’t tried to talk it out or cajole it into disappearing. He’d just acted, refilling her mug without asking as though it was the most natural thing in the world. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. ‘ _Bugger it_ ,’ she thought, ‘ _If nothing else, it’ll be entertaining_.’

 

>                             Alright, you win. Tell me your secret cure. -
> 
> \- Oh, it’s remarkably simple.
> 
> \- It’s sex.
> 
> \- Be round soon as I can. ;)

Angela stared at the phone. That wasn’t the answer she was expecting. ‘ _What the hell does he think he’s playing at_ ?!’ she thought. The man was an unrepentant flirt, everyone knew that much. Since he was intensely good looking and reasonably well intentioned, he always got away with it. Maybe it was time for that to change. If he was joking, it was cruel. If he was serious, it was incredibly forward. ‘ _Just because he’s Richard bloody Hammond, it still doesn’t give him the right to think he can have anyone at any time just because he wants to. I’m not even going to dignify that with a response_.’

She rolled over and looked at the faint glow of the city through the curtains, willing the daylight to come faster.

*******

Richard walked into Angela’s office the next morning carrying two enormous lattes and looking rather sheepish.

“Oh,” he said, noticing the giant takeaway coffee cup already occupying her favourite coaster, the one with the word ‘ _Fuck_ ’ on it in a multitude of different fonts and colours, “You’ve already got one. Ah well, more is always better where coffee’s concerned, eh?”

Angela raised an eyebrow and regarded him somewhat coldly out of the corner of her eye as he pulled a tissue out of the box on her desk, folded it twice, and set one of the coffee cups on it. He looked at her, running a hand through his hair nervously, sighing. He rounded the desk and leaned against it next to her.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry. When you didn’t immediately come back at me with a dig I figured I must have crossed a line.”

Angela turned her chair so she was facing him, crossing her arms. “Some people would classify your suggestion as ‘ _taking advantage of a woman in her weakened state_ ’.”

“Honestly, Ange, you’re one of the strongest women I know. I doubt you’d allow anyone to take advantage of you, ‘ _weakened state_ ’ or no.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”

Richard chewed his lip for a moment. “I promise I didn’t mean for it to come across like that. Sounding like I was trying to take advantage I mean. Ange, I-” he suddenly breathed out an apprehensive chuckle, “Reputation aside, I’m remarkably rubbish at this. Look, the suggestion was genuine, it was just presented badly, and I apologise for that.”

“What, just ‘ _helping out a mate_ ’? One night of unbridled passion with ‘ _Richard Hammond, Housewife’s Favourite_ ’ to cure my insomnia?” The idea stung a bit, and Angela was dangerously close to being actually hurt by it.

Richard looked at her hard then, eyes deep and honest, “Not just one night.”

‘ _Oh_.’ That was… unexpected. Well, sort of. But in a surprisingly nice way. Angela took a second to properly take in the man leaning on her desk. “Not just one night?”

“Not just one night.”

A Clarkson bellow from somewhere down the hall shattered the moment, “Hammond!”

Richard sighed, looking slightly defeated, and heaved himself off of Angela’s desk, heading for the door. Angela felt herself soften.

“Hammond.”

“Hmm?” he intoned, turning back to her with something like hope hovering behind his eyes.

“I know it’s an awful cliché, but the least you could do is buy me dinner first,” Angela smiled.

He grinned back and winked, “I fully intend to.”

*******

Dinner had ended up being a simple one, tucked away in a back booth at the pub nearest the office where the W. Chump & Sons crowd were known and mostly ignored. Angela was too knackered to be up for much of anything else, and Richard was, well, picky. They’d talked excitedly about the plans for the upcoming season’s films, what cars Angela had negotiated for them to play with, and how ridiculous Clarkson and May were in general. It wasn’t fair, really, the other two not being there to defend themselves, but that made it a bit more fun.

They managed to slip out of the pub just ahead of the arrival of the Friday night carousers. Angela bumped up against Richard’s shoulder gently and said, “You coming back to mine, then?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“How am I supposed to confirm or disprove your hypothetical cure for insomnia if you don’t?”

“Fair enough!”

*******

Angela had left the front door ajar when she got home so Richard could let himself in when he got there. She was in the kitchen wrangling the kettle when she heard the slight squeak of the hinges.

“Ange?”

“Kitchen!” she called back.

She heard the door close and a scant moment later Richard walked into the kitchen, moving up next to her at the counter, close but not touching. She flicked the switch on the kettle, but he reached around her and flicked it back off.

“Richard Hammond doesn’t want tea?” She said, turning towards him, feigning surprise.

“Richard Hammond wants something else,” he said, moving in front of her so that her back was to the counter.

Angela levered herself up to the counter top, grinning suggestively. Richard returned the grin, gently pushing her knees apart and moving between them, his hands sliding up her thighs and coming to rest on her hips. Angela returned the gesture, sliding her hands up his arms to his shoulders. She leaned into him until they were resting forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Richard tilted his head slightly and then they were kissing, sweet and wet and warm, tasting the remnants of bourbon and lager. Angela slipped down from the counter, sliding down Richard’s body, her mind registering a solid presence at the front of his just-the-right-side-of-tight jeans. ‘ _Hello_ ,’ she thought as she broke the kiss and pulled away, trailing her fingertips down his chest. Grinning a sly grin, Angela walked out of the kitchen and started down the hall towards the bedroom. She could feel him behind her, taut and electric and wanting. She could feel her own need swimming through her veins like a lion fish, spiky and predatory.

She turned on him the moment they entered the bedroom, winding her arms around his neck, getting her fingers into his hair, kissing him for all she was worth. He responded in kind, one hand at the back of her head, the other at her hip again, guiding her until the backs of her knees met the edge of the mattress and they tumbled in a heap onto the bed. Richard let out something between a growl and a moan as Angela pushed up on her elbows and wriggled further back towards the pillows. He followed, getting his hands up under her shirt, broad palms caressing her sides as he pushed the offending garment up and off over her head. He began trailing open-mouthed kisses down her neck and across her collarbone as she scrabbled with the buttons on his shirt. She managed to get them undone but the two of them were too tangled up for her to get his shirt all the way off, and he had a t-shirt underneath, besides. Angela made a disgruntled noise against Richard’s shoulder, ineffectively tugging at his shirt. Richard broke away from her, hurriedly divesting himself of any clothing he could get his hands on. Angela took the opportunity to do the same before diving beneath the duvet.

“Oh no you don’t,” his laugh was throaty and intoxicating as he pulled the duvet away, pushing it right off the bottom of the bed, “I want you out here where I can look at you.”

Angela felt herself go what must have been twelve shades of pink but didn’t protest - she couldn’t, anyway, not when he lowered himself down half on top of her, taking her mouth with his as though he owned it. His arousal was apparent, pushing intently against her thigh, begging for attention. Richard’s hands were everywhere all at once, and his mouth followed in no particular pattern, his lips at her jaw and then her wrist and then teasing a nipple and then back to her mouth. Everything was warm - the kind of warm that started just below her stomach and radiated _everywhere_. It might have all been too much if it hadn’t been so utterly, intensely, outrageously incredible. Angela slid her palms down the plane of his back, feeling the muscles underneath the skin, the angles of his shoulder blades, the line of his vertebrae. She let her hands slide even lower, gripping his undeniably perfect arse, squeezing and pulling him upwards along her body. She started to move a hand around to the front of him in between them but he gently grabbed her wrist and pulled it away, breaking their kiss and looking at her for a moment before trailing a line of kisses right the way down her body, then down the front of her right thigh. When he reached her knee he looked up at her again - partly immensely pleased with himself, partly making sure she was on board with what he was doing. She looked back at him, sitting up slightly so she could run a thumb down his cheek.

He moved up towards her, meeting her halfway and kissing her sweetly, “Let me take care of you.”

Angela let out a noise that was something between a sigh and a squeak and they both giggled as she said, “Please.”

He moved back to her knee then, kissing along the inside of her thigh this time until he reached her hip. Flicking his eyes up once more and finding her biting her smiling lip, eyes closed, holding her breath in anticipation, he nudged her thighs a little further apart with his nose. Suddenly his tongue was everywhere, flicking and laving at random, exploring. Richard was reveling in the reactions he was inducing, Angela could feel him grinning. When he hit _that_ spot, though, she nearly choked on a gasp. Sensing that he’d found the sweet spot, Richard repeated the action two, three, four more times, until Angela was pulling his face up towards hers while at the same time flailing an arm in the direction of the drawer on the bedside table.

He let out that throaty laugh again, pulling her up against his chest and reaching into the drawer himself. She wound her arms contentedly around his neck, kissing behind his ear, drawing her teeth ever so gently down his earlobe, feeling him shiver as she did. She heard the crinkle of foil and then he was moving again, pressing up against her. Suddenly he stopped.

“Alright?” he whispered against her neck.

“Mmmh,” she breathed into his hair.

After that it was one big, warm, moving blur. Richard found his rhythm, thrusting at exactly the right pressure. Angela clenched around him, seeking the extra friction. They clung to each other so tightly that there was no room between them at all - the air in the room would have been hard pressed to find an opening. The build was intense. It doubled with every motion, pushing them both towards the brink until finally Angela - biting on her thumb to keep from crying out loud enough to wake the neighbors three houses down -  succumbed to the most intense orgasm she could ever remember having. The world went bright and black almost at once and as she arched up against Richard she felt him peak and tip over the edge, her name on his lips.

Eventually, Angela stopped floating in blissful nothingness and felt Richard move. She harrumphed and reached for him, but he just chuckled and kissed her forehead and said, “I’m coming back, don’t worry.”

He did after a minute and Angela settled against him, resting her head over his heart, his arms around her. He’d fluffed the duvet back onto the bed to keep them both warm, and Angela felt properly drowsy for the first time all week.

“See? I told you it would work,” he smiled, pressing a kiss into her hair and lingering there, breathing her in.

Angela gave him a half-hearted thump and nestled closer to him.

‘ _Hello_ ,’ said Sleep.

‘ _Oh, hello_ ,’ said Angela.

‘ _Sorry I’ve been away so long. I’m back now, though_.’ Sleep brushed against Angela’s eyelids, closing them gently.

Richard didn’t hear the exchange between Sleep and Angela, but he did hear Angela’s breathy, sleepy, ' _Thank you_.' He smiled his own sleepy smile and whispered, “You’re welcome, Ange,” and drifted off to sleep himself.

*******


End file.
